


Starfall

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: F/M, Inamorato AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe you need a little holiday schmoopy fluff.  <br/>This is TFA Inamorato-verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starfall

“You’ve never heard of Starfall?”  Wing was honestly surprised. How could anyone not have heard of, well, one of his most favorite holidays?  

Drift shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning down that way they did when he was embarrassed about something he didn’t know. It was poignant, every time: adorable and vulnerable.  

“Well, then.”  Wing sidled a little closer as they walked down the avenue leaving behind the bright poster advertising the holiday--not quite touching, but letting his hand brush into the other’s EM field. “I have the honor of telling you about it.” 

Drift’s optics darted wistfully to Wing, then to the street in front of them, trying to force the sulk out of his expression.  He rarely got a whole afternoon to himself, and he didn’t want to waste it pouting. “Yeah, I mean, okay.” 

“Good.”  Wing turned up the wattage on his smile. “It’s a legend from the ancient past, when we had no cities, no society.  And one day, the scattered mechs and femmes looked up, and the sky was filled with stars, falling, bright lines of light.  And,” And Wing’s voice slipped into the reverent cadence of someone reciting an ancient legend, a holy thing, “And the stars touched the ground of Cybertron, and they knew something wonderful was happening, but they didn’t know what. So they went to find out, each seeking out one of the fallen stars, and so they came together around them, for the first time, uniting and meeting in the glowing light of the fallen star, cradled in the ground. And those stars, of course, became the first cities. Like this one.”  He swept a hand to take in the street in front of them.  

“So?”  Drift looked serious, trying to sift through the story, to find why Wing seemed so excited by it. 

“Well, I guess that’s not the fun part,” Wing conceded.  “The fun part is watching the skies that night, hoping to see a shooting star.  With your closest friend.”  

“Oh!”  Drift perked up. “That, uh, that does sound like fun. Kind of. I mean. I’ve never done it.”  He was backpedaling, assuming at first he was invited, then stepping back. 

“Well, you will this year. If you want.”  Just to make sure Drift got the point, Wing turned, taking his hand.  The other mech’s blue optics shimmered as he nodded.  “And then,” Wing said, his voice becoming warm and sweet, “there is the gift exchange.”

“G-gift?”

“It’s fun! It’s the best part,” Wing insisted. “Because our ancestors had nothing, no civilization, no stores, nothing, so that the gifts you give can’t cost money.”  Also, Wing figured, because gifts that did cost money tended to turn into some sort of competition. The ancestors had been wise, indeed.  

“Oh. I could...maybe?” 

“It’s a challenge,” Wing admitted. “Especially now, when we’re so far from our past, but that’s part of the fun. Can I find something to give you?” 

Drift nodded, making a sort of glitchy gulping noise. “I-I’d like that.” 

“I would, too.” And Wing held the smile, until it caught fire on Drift’s own face. 

***

“You make that frown any bigger,” Barricade said, resting his elbows on the bar, “and you’re gonna need a bigger face.”  What? He had a nose for news. Or at least an eye for dirt. All right, fine, he was fraggin’ curious.  And curiosity may have killed the robocat, but it’s never done anything bad to Barricade. Didn’t dare. Rawr. 

“Sorry,” Drift said, trying to do...uh, something with his face, that kind of made his mouth do this weird traveling sine wave thing. It looked painful.  “I’m just, you know. I got stuff to think.” 

Drift was an okay kid, Barricade figured. He certainly was a good worker, since he’d started as barback--never complained, didn’t swipe tips--but thinking wasn’t really his strong suit.  “Maybe I could help you out with that.” Because thinking? Barricade was a slaggin’ MASTER.  

Not that they were always good thoughts or helpful thoughts, but thoughts? He had tons of ‘em.  

“It’s just this whole Starfall thing. You know. The gift-thing.” 

“Gift thing.” Hey, Barricade was all about gifts. And things.  But this was a new one.  “Hey, copter!”  He waited till Blackout lumbered over, gingerly twisting past the close-set cafe tables. “Need your opinion on this Starfall gift thing.”  

“Oooooh, Starfall!”  Blackout’s rotors gave an excited bounce. “I didn’t know we celebrated that anymore.”  

“Neither did I,” Barricade said, letting his optics sliiiiide right on over to Drift. Pony up with the explanation, Drift. 

“We saw a poster, outside, the other day.” Drift’s hands knotted on his lap. “It’s apparently a thing where he’s from.” 

“I like it,” Blackout said, slowly. “I mean, the war’s over. We should bring back some of the old stuff. You know, the good stuff.”

And gifts? Definitely good stuff in Barricade’s book.  Right up there under copter-snuggling. “Yeah, yeah, cut to the chase already.”

“Well.”  Blackout paused,  reaching one hand back to scritch under his rotors. “I mean, you’re supposed to make something, right?  Or like, do something cool with something you have.”

“I’m listening,” Barricade said. Oh, wait. This was about Drift and the Latest Lovelorn Problem of the Week.  Mech was even more clueless about affairs of the spark than Barricade. Probably why Barricade kept him around: made him feel all smart.  Right. “So. Like what?”

“Oh, like draw a design on something plain, or, or, I knew a mech who used to make cute shapes out of folded metal foil and stuff.” He shrugged. “The whole idea is something small, or like the other person gets to see it every day. There was something about, you know, making the everyday stuff into something special or seeing special in the everyday but...yeah, that was a long time ago I heard that stuff.”  That was also a LOT of words for Blackout.  

“That sounds, you know, kind of fun,” Barricade said. Sure, he was all about nice awesome presents, but there was something kinda cool about the idea that Blackout would have done something to something for him. You know, like, other than punch someone in the face. That was cool, too, honestly, but Barricade would hate to admit he’d kind of like a little foil foldy something from Blackout a lot, too.  

“We should do it!” Blackout said.  Haha PERFECT. So now it looked like the copter’s idea, so Barricade didn’t have to ask or suggest it himself. Just one more reason Blackout was The Best.  

“Yeah, yeah,” Barricade said. “We could always try, you know.”  Casual shrug.  Caaaasual shrug.  Like he totally didn’t care but if Blackout wanted….

“So what about you, Drift,” Blackout said. “You got an idea for a gift for Wing?” Because it was like ZERO secret that the two of them were syrupy sweet on each other.  Except to Dai Atlas, and Barricade couldn’t figure out how they’d kept that secret half the time. Sure, a few near misses and some fancy word-work by Barricade more than one to throw the big frowny guy off the scent, but it was a thing that maybe made a mech believe in true love and all, with the way Dai Atlas hadn’t caught on.  

“No.”  Drift drooped.  “I mean, I don’t even have any talent like that.”

“Shut up with that kind of talk,” Barricade said, jabbing a talon at Drift’s chassis. “You wrote him that poem and all right?  And he liked that just fine, you know?”  He presumed so, judging by the liplock results.  “So,” he waved his claw. “Just do more of that. Shazoodle.” 

“Shazoodle?”  Drift blinked. 

“You know.  Like. Done.  Fixed. Bam.” Shazoodle. What? WHAT?! IT was totally a word. And why was Blackout looking at him like that?  

***

“This is...wonderful,” Wing said, perching on the roof of Dai Atlas’s dojo.  Drift had spent hours setting it up: a nest of blankets, a little bottle of spiced energon, a small lantern.  Simple, but showing care in everything, even the stack of blankets arranged by color.  

“You think so? I mean, I could bring up another pallet. I just...uh...assumed we’d be...you know.” Drift studied the ground, feeling stupid. 

“You assumed right!” Wing said brightly. “At least, that was my hope.” He stepped gracefully down off the roof’s raised edge, and Drift drowned his embarrassment in watching how the soft light from the lantern slid over the jet’s limbs as he moved, as though caressing him. It was a gentle, intimate glow, and one he decided he liked even more than the big way sunlight hit Wing.  This felt special. Just for him.  

“Can I--?”  Wing gestured at the blankets. “It just looks so cozy.”  

“Yeah!” Drift said, snapping himself out of his admiration. “You just, you know, uh, I’ll pour some engex.”  And try, he hoped, to compose himself.  Wing was here, with him, on one of Wing’s favorite holidays. It didn’t matter--he told himself--how the rest of the night worked. This was wonderful. Perfect. 

Well, as perfect as anything can be with Drift involved. Which, according to Dai Atlas, wasn’t very perfect.  

But Dai Atlas wasn’t here; Wing was, and Drift wanted nothing more than to see if Wing liked the engex.  You weren’t supposed to buy the present, but the rules said nothing about buying a treat first. And he had a job now, at Inamorato, so he could splurge, couldn’t he?  

“Mmmmmmm,” Wing said, taking a sip, optics lidding, as though letting the engex seep through his systems.  “It was a cold flight, so this is just perfect.”  

Drift glowed, and took the opportunity--maybe it was a hint?--to slip into the blankets himself after lowering the lantern light, feeling Wing’s EM field, and the heat of his worked engines felt plush and wonderful against Drift’s frame.  “I’m glad you like it.” And maybe me. 

No, he should know that by now, right? He shouldn’t still be so shy, so cautious. But Wing was just...so far out of his league he couldn’t help but feel the contrast between them starkly, like Wing would find someone his level soon, and then shine less and less of his light on Drift until Drift withered back to the mech he’d been before meeting him. 

Even worse than before, honestly, because he’d had a taste of something better, something real. 

“I like everything you do,” Wing said, taking a sip, and then passing it over. “This is too good not to share.”  

Drift could say that about this whole night, honestly. And the engex seemed to go straight to his head, fizzing bright and warm and happy against the cool night.  

Wing gave a deep, contented sigh, leaning back to where the pallet met the roof’s corner, resting his shoulders against it. Drift moved to adjust the blankets, easing himself next to him, and for a long time they did nothing but lie together, comforting, companionable, watching the sky as night filled it with indigo, in the happiest silence Drift had ever known.  He let the concern, the worry, fade away--or rather pushed it away, determined not to let it get in the way, and it was like Wing was some soothing influence, that kind of rippling, spreading calm like water after a stone dropped in it. And he’d rather have that than the warm engex. But both together…?

The city around them--below them--fell into a sort of drowsy hush, and it was easy to think, even for Drift, that he and Wing were the only two mechs in the world, staring into the sky together.  And he didn’t need light to see Wing--the gold optics lit him just enough, his EM field tingly and wonderful.  

“Look!” Wing’s optics flicked up, excited. “Do you see that?” 

Drift hesitated, because, no, he hadn’t. He’d been looking at Wing. “...no. I missed it. Is that bad?” 

“Well.” Wing shifted. “It’s supposed to be, well, meaningful if you see it together. But I don’t know. I think that was maybe just a satellite.”  

It probably wasn’t, but Drift didn’t want to think he’d missed his chance. He mashed his lips together, staring intently up at the sky. “What happens if we don’t see anything?”

“Nothing,” Wing said. “It’s just, well, good luck if you do. Especially together.” Under the blankets, his hand found Drift’s, twining their fingers together.  

“Maybe we could do the gifts?” It might disrupt this feeling of having fragged stuff up.  

“All right.” Wing sat up, and somehow managed not to let go of Drift’s hand while pulling a packet out of his storage, wrapped in dark paper with glittery gold stars.  

Drift tried to unwrap it, heroically, using just one hand...and his teeth, until Wing slipped his hand free with an easy laugh. “I suppose I should stop keeping your hand hostage,” the jet said. 

No, he could pretty much keep Drift’s hand any time he wanted, as far as Drift was concerned. But still, he probably looked a little less ridiculous using his hands, carefully undoing the paper until the smooth white stone fell into his hand. It was some kind of special stone, almost glowing from within, chatoyant with gold light.  “It’s beautiful!”

“It’s a kind of gemstone from my home,” Wing said.  “I wanted you to have it, and maybe remember that you, too, glow like this.”  

He was probably glowing from embarrassment at the compliment, at least. The goldy glow reminded him of Wing’s optics, but he didn’t want to mention that. It was special and beautfiul and he didn’t even care if he saw any stars anymore.  

Oh wait. Right. His gift. He slipped his hand under the pallet to pull out the package, small and thin. Wing unwrapped it, carefully, though the paper Drift had used was plain white stuff, hardly as nice as the dark paper the jet had used.  

“It’s your name. Kind of a word art thing.”  He’d seen the idea in one of Dai Atlas’s books on calligraphy--writing someone’s name as big hollow letters that you fill up with other words that start with the same letter. “See? Like the ‘w’ has ‘warm’ and ‘wonderful…?”  

“I do!” Wing said, leaning towards the art, the blanket slipping off his shoulders.  “And the I…” 

Yeah, the ‘i’ had been tough. “That’s ‘intelligent’ and this is, uh, when I said ‘infectious’ I meant, like, you know, your laugh and stuff.” He’d needed a long word and it was the first that popped into his head. Now it sounded really, really stupid. “Not that YOU are contagious or...uh...anything.”  

Wing laughed--that exact, infectious, wonderful laugh, like singing crystals, and pulled Drift into a kiss. “It’s perfect,” Wing said into his lip plates. “I’ll hang it in my room, where I’ll see it every morning.”  

  
Drift melted into the kiss, feeling warmer than even all the blankets could have done. And then--”Look!” 

He hated to break the kiss, which was ‘warm’ and ‘wonderful’ and a whole lot of other non-alliterating words, and Wing looked up, to see streaks of light, not just one, but more than a dozen, streak overhead. It made the kiss, the contact between them, feel something like magic, and Drift decided Starfall was his favorite holiday, too. 

***

Epilogue: 

“There,” Barricade said, sitting up from his prone position in the haze of smoke, and slipping the goggles off his optics. “Tell me some good news, copter.” Seriously. Playing cupid felt like the most unrewarding job ever in the history of semi-legitimate employments Barricade had tried. 

“It worked!” Blackout said. “I’m comin’ in.” 

Well thank fraggin’ Primus. He’d only blown off seven-fraggin’-teen of old Meteor missiles and he expected the ‘what the frag’ call from Onslaught any klik now.  But Barricade was a crafty mech and his ‘accident at the ammo dump’ excuse hadn’t been wheeled out in long enough that it should work again.  

Till then, he had copter incoming. And gifts to, uh, giftinate.  Or whatever. He’d worry about the verbs later. Because now was time for giftinization.  EXTREME giftinization. 

“You’re a romantic mech,” Blackout said, as he transformed on the top of their apartment’s helipad.  “Because that was really sweet.” 

Hey, any time Barricade could blow off B-class munitions and be called ‘sweet’? Sign him up!  

“Yeah, well, they need all the help they can get.” Eeeeeeh they probably didn’t, but it didn’t hurt to be sure.  Barricade was all about overkill.  Like seventeen missiles’ worth.  “So, anyway.  Got you something.”  He shoved the box out.  Yeah he wasn’t so good at this part of giftinating. Whatever. 

“It’s...me!”  Blackout’s rotors flared happily. “You made a little me out of an...is this an old hand grenade?” 

“Yep!” Barricade rocked forward onto his toes.  He felt pretty damn crafty about it, too.  “I did defuse it, though.” Of course! Even miniature Blackouts blowing up didn’t seem like a great omen.  

“This is really cool! No one’s ever made a little doll of me before!”

Barricade coughed. “Action figure.” 

“What?”

“It’s not a doll. It’s an action figure.” 

“Oh! Right! Look! It’s got the holes in the feet and everything!”  Of course there were: Barricade had drilled them himself. “I’m an action figure!”  He made it sound like it was the coolest thing ever. 

Huh. It did sound pretty cool. Barricade, you are a genius. Of course. 

“Well, I  got you something too,” Blackout said, and fumbled in his storage with one hand, the other cradling the figure.  “Here!” 

“It’s...uh...shazoodle?”  If Barricade head tilted more, he’d sprain a neck cable. 

“I thought it was a really cute word! Though that’s just the bottle.  It’s got your favorite grade of engex in it, too. ‘Cause, you know, you never know when you’re gonna need some shazoodle.”  If Blackout wasn’t trying so hard not to laugh, Barricade would probably be trying harder to look angry. 

“I’ll shazoodle you!” he said, lunging after Blackout, who ran away, taunting him with his rotors, giggling.  Yeah, okay, shazoodle was fast becoming his favorite word. 

“Gonna have to catch me first!” Blackout said, feet pounding across the helipad.  

And above them, a shooting star etched a line of white in the night sky. 

***

 Post-Epilogue

“I’m rather surprised you had the night free,” Onslaught said, settling down next to Moonracer. 

“I was about to say the same thing,  _Commander_ ,” she said, hooking a thigh over his squared-off knee  after he sat.  

“I had things, but they were...lower priority.”  Onslaught would make an exception for Moonracer.  Executive privilege.  To him, the first time Moonracer invited him out maxed out his priorities matrix, and he didn’t care what Vortex would say tomorrow morning.  His comm buzzed, something about some munitions going off. It took 0.5 microkliks to figure Barricade was probably behind it.  And less than that to decide that the last thing he wanted to do right now was try to keep a straight face while Barricade told him yet another entirely improbable lie. 

He sighed, silencing it.  Priority matrix. 

“You sure know how to flatter a girl,” Moonracer said, but the wink of the optic took the edge off the sass.  

“I have better ways of flattering you, Moonracer.” Starting with the fingertips he trailed up that thigh so teasingly resting on his leg.  

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she said, shifting her leg into the touch, leaning over and guiding his face into a kiss. “Happy Starfall, Onslaught.” 

He didn't really do happy but tonight....he'd make an exception. 


End file.
